


Let Me Be Your Ride Out of Town

by bare-ankles (Ophelia_Bedelia)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Harry is a chef, Louis is a cheeky inn-keeper, M/M, Niall Horan & Harry Styles Friendship, Road Trip, some banter some bad first impressions and a nice heaping dose of good old-fashioned pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2174028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_Bedelia/pseuds/bare-ankles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry lives an orderly life, running his own catering company and frequenting fancy restaurants, but when his boyfriend fails to propose to him in a timely manner, he hitches a ride to Dublin to do the job himself. He does not plan for the rain. Or the livestock. Or the surly cab driver who may or may not be his soulmate kind of.<br/>See also: cows who are impervious to time constraints, sexually deviant bed and breakfast owners, road trip shenanigans, and a little classic rock.</p><p>Or: the accidental Leap Year AU.</p><p>EDIT: I changed the chapter count because I've put off the epilogue until summer break. Ha (sorry)! So for now the fic completed and it'll stop bothering the living heck out of me every time I open up ao3 until I write that epilogue. xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Diamond, A Quest, and Happy Days

**Author's Note:**

> Alright let me just start by saying, I didn't mean for this to happen. Basically tumblr user [loundonson](http://loundonson.tumblr.com/) mentioned they wanted a Leap Year AU and I was like what is that so I watch the movie and it was awful, good god it was awful, AND YET i kept watching?? And then I started writing and pretty soon i was like whoops this is long and that brings us to the now. Cool.  
> Secondly, I took some liberties with the whole leap year tradition from the movie to make it a bit less heteronormative and antiquated :) Actually I took liberties with a lot of things.  
> Also I've never been to Ireland. It probably shows. I'm sorry.  
> Special thank you, as always, to my beautiful [beta](http://mad-adder.tumblr.com/) who doesn't even complain when I send her like 10 single-spaced pages of my nonsense to read at midnight. Cheers, friend.

Let me be your ride out of town  
Let me be the place that you hide  
We can make our lives on the go  
Run away with me

...

The way Harry sees it, presentation is half the battle. Nobody wants to eat fish without a garnish; that’s just science. And a brownie without a raspberry drizzle along the edges of the plate might as well be a lump of cocoa powder slathered in butter. That is why Harry is good at his job.

His catering company is the absolute top of the line. Would Kenneth Branagh ask them to cater his birthday party if their fruit tarts were not in perfect rows of three and topped with a sprinkle of mint leaves? Not bloody likely. 

Niall likes to call him Iron Chef and seems to think it’s very clever. He also eats the garnishes so Harry doesn’t need his approval. 

Harry sifts confectioner sugar over a bowl while he checks his phone. _Four events booked for the week. Two fundraisers, a baby shower, and a wedding. He scrolls down through his emails. A confirmation from Nick about dinner reservations at 7:00 and apartment hunting the following morning_. Harry checks the time. He’ll have to get a cab home if he wants enough time to get ready. As if that’s even a question.

Niall barges through the swinging kitchen door just then, holding an empty tray. “The tartar is gone already. You put crack in those or what?” He sets the tray on the counter and, before Harry can stop him, sticks his finger in the bowl of sugar.

“Oy, hands off!” Harry bats him away. “One of these days, you’re gonna be so fired.”

Niall laughs heartily at that, which makes Harry smack him harder. “Ah, mate, you’re too cute,” says Niall, dancing out of dodge and licking the sugar off his finger.

“You better wash that before you touch any more of my tartar.”

“Of course,” Niall waggles his eyebrows suggestively and walks to the sink. Glancing at Harry over his shoulder, he says, “So, you said Nick’s got big plans for tonight, eh?”

Harry nods. “We’re going to my favorite restaurant—"

“The one with the six-item water menu? 

“Yes, _La Petite Cuillère_. And they have a very fine water selection.”

“Were you always this pretentious?”

“Yes, Niall. In fact, I shot out of the womb and demanded my stewed carrots be locally grown and expertly pureed.”

“With a garnish?”

“Well, sprinkle of nutmeg, perhaps.”

Niall chuckles. “Right, ok. So Nick is taking you out. Any special reason?”

Harry ducks his head. “I think so.”

Niall’s face breaks into a massive grin. “Ayyy! Congratulations mate!” He throws an arm around Harry’s shoulders and ruffles his hair. “Fuckin’ finally, am I right?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Four years? Yes, definitely. But Caroline saw him walking out of Ingle & Rhode yesterday, so…”

“Oh my god this is real, Harry, you’re getting engaged. I’m finally gonna get some grandkids!”

“Oh, shut up.” But Harry is laughing. Then he remembers the tartar. “Shit.” He rushes over to the fridge and takes out two Tupperware boxes. “Right then, here’s twelve more of these bad boys.” He lines them all up, evenly spaced, on Niall’s tray. “Alright, get back to work, you slacker.”

“Sure thing, boss. And congratulations again on no longer living in sin.”

“Get out of here!” Harry whips him with a dishrag and Niall leaves cackling.

...

6:35 finds Harry standing in his closet, rejected outfits strewn about his feet. Was a suit jacket too formal? _Yes. Probably. Well_ …he picks it up again. _Maybe with a more casual shirt?_ He needs to call Zayn. 

After a couple rings, Niall answers with a poorly-done posh accent. “May I help you?”

“No. I need fashion advice.”

“Ah, yes. Zayn!” Niall calls, holding the phone away from his mouth. “Harry needs you to dress him because he is a giant man child but he’s getting married, so I guess—"

“Harry?” Zayn has evidently snatched the phone from Niall.

“Zayn, hi. Er, do you think a suit jacket is too formal?”

“Absolutely not. Wear it. You look great in it. The black one, right? With the detailing on the lapels?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Definitely wear that.”

“Ok, thanks. I know Nick likes the more sort of conventional suit, but _La Petite Cuillère_ is more tastefully funky and I want to match the ambiance so I was thinking of pairing it with like a more casual shirt?”

The nice thing about Zayn is that Harry can say shit like this and he wont even roll an eye.

“Tell him to wear the one that shows off his titties!” calls Niall from somewhere in the background.

“Uh,” says Zayn. “How about that gray scoop neck t-shirt. The one that’s not semi-sheer.”

“Hmm,” Harry digs through his drawer before realizing he already tried that one on. He picks it up off the floor and tries putting them on together. He cocks his head to the side, regarding his reflection. “What about the hat?”

“You mean your weird hipster farmer hat?”

“Yeah. Too much? I know Nick hates it.”

“Harry, you know normally I would tell you to only dress for yourself, but yes. That would be too much.”

“Alright, I’m sending you a mirror selfie for confirmation.”

“Of course,” says Zayn. “Talk to you soon. Good luck!”

“Yeah, bye. Thank you so much! Love you!” Harry hangs up and snaps a quick picture. Well, he snaps three. The first two don’t quite capture the look. He needs the perfect angle. Slight turn of the head, phone held away from his body in the most unobtrusive spot. He hits send.  
Moments later, he gets Zayn’s respons: _Yes!!!! xx_. And then another that says _Knock ‘em dead with your shiny chest, you saucy minx_ , which he can only assume is Niall’s way of saying good luck. 

When he arrives at the restaurant, Nick is already there. He’s wearing his vest and the pink tie Harry loves. He looks sharp. 

Nick looks up from his phone when Harry approaches the table. “Hey, babe,” He stands and gives Harry a peck on the lips. “You look lovely, as always. How was work?”

“Oh uh, thanks. It was good.” Harry takes a seat, suddenly and inexplicably nervous. “We um, we served them this tartar with avocado puree and everybody seemed to really like it because they ate it really fast, so we had to keep refreshing Niall’s tray, and luckily I made enough, I think, cause it lasted till the end of the event, but we definitely used more than I had anticipated, you know, I just made extras in case, but uh, yeah it’s a good thing I did, cause, you know.” Harry shrugs. “But now I know to make more tartar.”

Nick laughs. “Babe, your stories. I always think they might go somewhere, but they almost never do.”

“Hey! I’m proud of my tartar, ok?”

“Ok.” Nick smiles.

They look at their menus, but Harry already knows what he wants. Instead, he takes the opportunity to observe Nick. He looks calm enough. _Does he have the ring in his breast pocket? In his trouser pocket? Is he holding it under the table? Oh, or maybe he did that thing like in the movies where the ring is in the champagne glass or something_.

“You alright, babe?”

“Huh?”

“You look a little,” Nick makes a vague gesture with his hands. “shifty.” 

“Oh! No, it’s nothing. Are you ready to order?” Harry puts down his menu and smiles serenely.

Nick nods and flags down the waitress. He doesn’t order champagne, but Harry approves of his wine selection.

Harry is about halfway through his Sole Meunière when Nick clears his throat. “So, erm, I got you something.” He says.

Harry’s head snaps up to look at him. _This is it, this is it_. “Oh really?” Harry’s hands are shaking, so he puts down his fork. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, I just,” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small velvet box. Harry’s eyes widen.

“Oh, Nick.” Harry reaches out as Nick slides the box across the table to him.

“I know, it’s kind of out of nowhere, but I just thought…I don’t know, I thought what the hell. You deserve it.”

“I—wait what?”  
Harry opens the box. Cufflinks. _Cufflinks?_ He stares at them for a moment in disbelief.

“Do you like them?” There’s a hopeful lilt in Nick’s voice, and his smile is so sweet and so fucking oblivious. 

Harry sighs. “Yes, of course. They’re beautiful.” And Nick seems to take the thickness in his voice to mean his boyfriend has been thoroughly moved by the gesture. 

“Well, try them on, then!”

Harry lets out a shaky laugh, “I’m not wearing a dress shirt, Nicky.”

“Oh, of course, duh.” Just then, Nick’s phone rings. “Sorry, it’s Simon. I better take this.”

“Right.” And Harry’s voice is so soft, he’s not even sure if he hears it, but Nick is scooting his chair out anyway and then he’s walking away from the table, leaving Harry alone and very much unengaged with his stupid, plate of flat chicken and his stupid cufflinks of lies.

...

Niall is the best friend Harry has ever had. For lots of reasons. But perhaps most notably, because he’s always ready to commiserate with Harry over a bottle of anything. Harry should be picking out color pallets and menu items, but now all he can do is keep his shirtsleeves closed looking like Hugh fucking Heffner. Niall has a rum for that.

“And now,” Harry says and takes another swig from the bottle. “Now, he’s going on a business trip. To _fucking_ Ireland—”

“Oy, don’t be putting down the motherland, yeah?”

“I could have had a spring wedding.” Harry flops down on the couch with his arm thrown dramatically over his face.

Niall grabs the bottle out of his hand. “You still could do, ya know. Why don’t you just ask him?”

Harry peaks out from under his arm. “What?”

“Harry, if you’re so ready to marry the man, ask him yourself. You’re perfectly capable, and he’s obviously not taking the hint. I mean, why not, right?”

Harry stays silent under his arm.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Well, whatever. I will say though, your Mr. Grimshaw missed a prime romantic opportunity by not taking you to Dublin with him. I mean leap day is this week.”

“Niall, I know you love your country and all, but a business trip to Dublin is not the romantic getaway you think it is.”

“God Harry, are you even listening? _Leap day_.”

“…Ok?”

“You know, Irish tradition and that!”

“No I do not know. Nobody knows. Your weird little country’s folklore is impenetrable from the outside.”

“Ok first of all, we may be little and weird, but we are mighty. Now, do you want to hear the lore or not?”

Harry sighs, but waves his hand for Niall to continue.

“Basically the legend states that if you propose to your love on leap day, the union will be blessed and last for eternity and blah-di-blah, all that good stuff. Lots of people do it. There are like tons of youtube videos of it. Knowing you, they will all make you cry.”

Harry snorts. “Alright so people just decide to get engaged on leap year?”

“I mean, yeah, pretty much.”

“Huh. And I bet nine months later there’s an influx of babies in the hospitals?”

“Actually, yes. In school, we used to call them Leapers.”

“Cute.” Harry pauses for a moment. “I don’t suppose Nick would know about that tradition.”

“I believe the term you used was ‘impenetrable.’”

But Harry is already springing up from the couch. “What if I surprised him? What if I met him there in Dublin? I’ll sweep him off his feet! I’ve been told I can be very charming!” 

Niall rolls his eyes. "Those people need to have their heads checked."

Harry jumps onto the couch and brandishes the bottle of rum at Niall. “Hush, you. Help me get a train ticket.”

...

Harry hates Ireland. He hates its trains and its ferries and its weather and its cows. Except that he doesn’t really, but he just can’t bring himself to feel cozy about the damn place when he’s standing in the rain in a town he’s never even heard of, still a bit seasick, because apparently the weather is too horrendous even for train travel. And he’s got no signal so he can’t even call Niall to cry about it. 

Harry can barely see through the sheets of rain, but he can make out a building across the street from the platform. There is light. Hallelujah. He makes his way across the empty street, using his hand to shield his face from the onslaught of rain. When he reaches the door, there is a sign out front that reads “Happy Days Inn.” _Well, that sounds charming enough_. Harry pushes the door open and steps inside. It’s a dingy pub, poorly lit, with all of two people sitting at the bar. In the corner is a miniature pool table that looks as though it hasn’t been used in Harry’s lifetime.

Cautiously, Harry approaches the bar. The man behind it looks up from the book he’s reading to eye him.

“Er, hello,” Harry starts. “I was wondering if you know how I might call a cab?” The man gives him a once over. “Like is there a number I could call, or…”

“Yeah.” The man takes out a pen and jots something down on a paper napkin.

“Thanks. And er, my mobile is—”

“Over there.” The man points to a dusty payphone hanging on the wall.

Harry takes the napkin. “Thanks.”

There is a water damaged-phonebook on the floor beside the phone, a few numbers and a vaguely pornographic drawing scribbled on the wall. Harry dials the number on the napkin.

After one ring, a sharp voice on the other end says “Hello.”

“Hi, is this the cab service? I need a car to Dublin as soon as possible tonight. Cause I was on the train right? But then it got shut down cause of the rain and so I got stranded in this town, but the thing is I really have to be there by Friday because I’m meeting my boyfriend Nick—he’s there on a business trip, that’s why we didn’t go together—but he doesn’t actually know I’m coming, see, cause I decided I would—“

“Christ, do you always open with your life story?”

Harry hears it through the phone, but he could swear it’s also coming from behind him. He whips around. The man behind the bar is watching him with obvious amusement, a phone to his own ear. Harry hangs up with a little extra force and stomps back to the bar.

“You’re a real laugh riot, mate.”

“I like to think so.” The man gives him a winning smile and puts the phone down.

“So you’re the cab service.”

“I am.”

“Great. Well, uh, I need to leave now please.”

The man barks out a laugh and, with that, he lands himself a spot on Harry’s growing list of Things He Doesn’t Like About Ireland. 

“Look, I’ll pay you extra, yeah? I just really need to be there as soon as possible.”

The man makes a show of wiping tears from his eyes. “You got enough to pay for both our funerals when we drive off a cliff in this weather?”

His accent isn’t Irish. Somehow, this only serves to irritate Harry further. _Why is he even here then?_ Harry looks around at the pub.

“Fine. Do you have any rooms available?”

The man smirks and takes a key from under the bar. “Certainly.”

 

By the time Harry has dragged his suitcase to the top of the narrow staircase, there is a sheen of perspiration at his hairline and he’s admittedly a bit grateful to the rainwater for disguising his pit stains. The bartender waits at the top of the stairs, dangling the key at Harry from one finger. He raises an eyebrow at the luggage. 

“Need a hand with all your worldly possessions?”

“Not anymore, but thanks so much,” Harry says, snatching the key out of the man’s hand. He shoves it in the keyhole and jiggles it around.

“Next door, love.”

Harry feels his face heat up. He avoids the man’s gaze and his stupid smirk as he tries not to look too terribly flustered. When he finally gets it open, Harry hauls his luggage through the door into the room and slams it behind him.

He flops face down onto the bed and lets out a long groan. Three days until Leap Day. Doable, but cutting it close. And the thought of spending a whole day stuck in a car with some snarky innkeeper makes Harry want to hurl. He flips over onto his back and stares at the mildew stain on the ceiling. It sort of looks like a shoe. Or a fat banana. He hears a rustling sound and turns his head toward the door.

There is a folded slip of paper lying on the floor. Harry gets off the bed and picks it up. He opens it and reads.

_Bathroom is across the hall. My room is the last one at the end. Give it a knock if you need something. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Cheers, Louis._

Harry stares at the note and shakes his head. He opens the door and peeks out, but the hall is empty. He ducks back in. He should probably call Nick. But Harry’s eyes seem to be closing of their own accord and instead he sinks back onto the bed. He places the note on the bedside table and flicks the lamp off. He’ll call Nick in the morning.


	2. Elvis, Cows, and New Friends

The morning brings with it a miraculous bout of sunshine, and Harry wakes up feeling refreshed. Excited, even. In just three days, he’ll be engaged to a wonderful man and on track for a perfect life. He should call Nick. 

Just then, there’s a knock on his door. “Time to get up, Miss Daisy. I leave at 9:30 with or without you.”

Harry’s mood only wavers a little when the innkeeper— _Louis_ , Harry remembers—makes a crack about his suitcase containing a small civilization. But Harry clings to his mood. This trip will be good, it will be good, it will be fucking good.

When he hauls his bags outside, there is a small, rather sad-looking red car parked on the curb.

“Get in. We need to reach Dublin by this afternoon so I can be back in time for happy hour,” Louis calls from the driver’s seat. Steeling himself, Harry slides in next to him.

“Woo, road trip,” Harry says weakly as they merge onto the main road. Louis side-eyes him without a word. “Do, um. Do you need me to read the map, or…?”

“I know where I’m going.”

“Ok.” 

Harry glances over at Louis’ profile. The guy has got the sharpest features. Like, sharper than Zayn’s, and Harry hadn’t thought that was possible. His face is just _pointy_. Not in a bad way or anything. At all. In fact, Harry can see how maybe with the right personality tweaks, this Louis character might be attractive to some people. He wonders what the dating scene must be like in this town. Just a lot of old, grizzled fishermen, probably. And what do they even do? Picnic? Actually, that sounds kind of nice. He and Nick have never done a picnic. Maybe when he gets to Dublin, if Nick isn’t too busy, Harry should make him a picnic.  
Louis clears his throat, and Harry realizes he’s been staring. Louis smirks. 

“Um. Look,” says Harry. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Harry. I’m from London. I, uh, I like pasta. And the Rolling Stones.” Louis barks out a laugh. Harry’s eyes narrow. “We’re gonna make small talk, okay? Okay. There you are, that’s me, now tell me about you.”

Louis doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Eh, I’m not that interesting. Tell me more about pasta!” He takes his hands off the wheel briefly to punctuate ‘pasta’ with jazz hands. 

Alright, so the foot they got off on wasn’t wrong after all. Well fine, Harry doesn’t need someone to talk to. It’s just a few hours. The silence stretches on as endless grassy hills fly by the window. Harry gazes out at the landscape. It is littered with cows.

“Lot of cows,” Harry is saying before he can stop himself. Louis doesn’t respond. “Uh, you like cows?” Well, he’s really in top form today.

Finally, Louis turns to him. “We need to work on your small talk.”

“You first,” Harry shoots back.

“Alright, fine, what do you want to know? I like pasta too, I guess.”

“Where are you from? Ever had a pet? What’s your favorite book? How old are you? What do you listen to when you’re sad?”

“Jesus, alright, alright. Uh, I’m from Doncaster. Yes, when I was little. _A Tale of Two Cities_. Twenty-eight. What was the last question?”

“What do you listen—”

“Oh right, when I’m sad. Probably Elvis.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Cool.”

A small smile plays across Louis’ lips and he begins to sing the first couple lines of Burning Love under his breath. “Lord almighty, feelin’ my temperature rising…” 

Harry tries and fails to keep a straight face. Louis’ voice is high and kind of unexpectedly pop-y. But it’s nice. When he gets to the chorus, he stops and looks at Harry expectantly. Harry lets out an exaggerated sigh and joins in.

“Cause your kisses lift me higher, like the sweet song of a choir,” Harry picks up a water bottle from the cup holder and holds it like a microphone. “You light my morning sky with burnin’ love.” 

Louis tosses his head back and laughs. “A star is born, Harold.” After a pause, Louis speaks up again. “Alright then, what brings you here anyway?”

“Ah.” Harry shifts in his seat. He fidgets with the water bottle. “Well, I’m actually here to propose to my boyfriend on Leap Day.”

Louis snorts. “Oh no. God, you’re one of those?” 

Harry whips around to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Louis laughs again, but this time there’s something biting in it. “That tradition is a load of crap.” When Harry just glares, Louis sighs. “It just pressures people into buying expensive rings and elaborate ceremonies that they otherwise wouldn’t have even considered, cause they think, ‘oh, but if we get engaged today we’ll be  
together forever,’ and they think it’ll save the marriage, but folksy Irish voodoo can’t save a fucked relationship. It’s stupid.”

Harry can feel the blood leaving his face. More than ever, he wishes Niall were there. Niall would definitely punch this guy for him. Harry clenches his jaw. 

“Alright, I don’t know where you get off being Ebenezer fucking Scrooge, but for your information, Nick and I are happy together. We are really fucking content, got it? And this proposal is going to be romantic and beautiful,” He smacks Louis in the shoulder with the empty water bottle. “And our grandchildren will hear the whole story over and over, minus the part about the nasty, bitter cab driver, until they are fucking sick of it,” He hits Louis again with a little less force. “And then they will tell it to their children. And another thing—”

But at that moment, Louis swears loudly and hits the breaks. Harry whips back around to face the road.

Cows. Cows like a living barricade all the way across. _Oh no you don’t_. Harry opens the door and steps out.

“Oi, get back in the car!” Louis shouts. Harry slams the door shut.

“Alright, cows,” he murmurs. “You can’t graze here. Come on, off you go.” He approaches one and gives it a light nudge. “Back up the hill please.” The cow looks at him and chews. “I really need to get by, thank you.” 

Harry waves his arms at them. They remain unimpressed. Behind him, Louis honks the horn. A few cows stir at that. One moos back. Louis rolls down the window. 

“Mate, get back in the car, they’ll move eventually.”

“Well, I need them to move now,” Harry grunts, pushing at one of the immovable masses with his shoulder. It looks rather affronted, so Harry stops. “Sorry.” Harry looks around. “Jesus, why are you all here? The grass is exactly the same over on that hill!”

“Harry, stop shouting at the cows and get back in the car.”

“But I need them to listen to me!”

“Okay, well, shouting at them isn’t doing anybody any good.”

Harry glares at Louis then back at the cows. “Fine.” 

Once he’s back in the car, Louis chuckles and shakes his head. “It was a valiant effort.”

“Shut up.”

They sit in silence, staring at the cows. The cows ignore them. The cows are tactless.

“Bloody cows.” Louis says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You know, this doesn’t actually happen usually.”

“Well, it’s happening now.”

“Yep.”

Harry makes eye contact with a cow just outside his window and glares at it. Bloody cows indeed. Ruining Harry’s grand romantic gesture. The cow tilts its head a bit like it knows exactly what he’s thinking. Can cows read minds? _I hope they eat you first_ , Harry thinks at it.

“Alright, that’s it. We’re taking a walk.” Louis opens the door and hops out.

“Um.” Harry grabs his phone and wallet and follows suit. He jogs a bit to catch up to Louis, who is already disappearing down a hill. He leads them to a narrow creek and squats to pick up a handful of small stones.

“Here’s the activity,” he says, Handing a few pebbles to Harry. “We’re gonna skip some stones. Whoever can skip them the farthest wins.”

“Fine,” says Harry, rolling up his sleeves. “Loser has to do battle with the cows.”

Louis laughs. “Oh, bring it on. But I should warn you, I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

When Harry was in school, Niall's dad used to take them fishing in the summer. Harry would whine incessantly about hurting the fish, so Niall's dad taught them to skip rocks instead. When Harry wins, Louis splutters. Harry just grins—the dimply grin he knows is extra charming.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Oh shut it,” Louis scoops up a handful of water and tosses it at Harry. It hits him square in the chest.

Harry gasps. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

“Believe it, sunshine.”

“You are dead.” Harry takes off his shoes and plunges his feet into the creek. He kicks and splashes water in Louis’ direction.

“Stop, stop oh my god it’s so cold!” But Louis’ giggling, and Harry’s feet are freezing but he doesn’t really mind.

“Now," he says, straightening up. "I believe you are the people’s champion for cow wrangling.”

“Alright, alright.” Louis makes one more attempt at splashing back, which Harry dodges. 

They hike back up the hill to where the car is waiting, still flanked by cattle.

“Any ideas, Napoleon?”

"That better not have been a dig at my height, Harold."

They get back in the car. “Now,” Says Louis, starting the ignition. “This is a refined technique I like to call brute force.”

Louis honks the horn a couple times and inches the car forward. A few of the cows shuffle a bit to accommodate the car. Louis honks again and slowly the cows, looking rather put upon, shift to the side. 

“See how they scatter in fear before my awesome power?” Harry rolls his eyes. One cow stands directly in front of them, staring Louis down. Louis taps her lightly with the front of the car. She takes a moment to consider him, like she’s deciding if it’s really worth the effort, before ambling off. It takes about fifteen minutes, but when they are finally through the herd, Louis turns to Harry with a triumphant grin. “Well, call me Moses, cause I just parted the god damned sea. Next stop: promised land.” 

“Yeah, alright, don’t get too cocky, Mr. Prophet Man.” Louis laughs at that, and Harry has to look out the window to hide his grin. He isn’t sure that it works. “Hey, you didn’t happen to pack any unleavened bread did you? I’m famished.”

They end up pulling over at the next town. There is a sandwich shop where they grab lunch, then sit outside on a large rock. Louis seems content to eat in silence, so it’s up to Harry to maintain the small talk. Which, in all honesty, is too bad.

“So, Elvis, huh?” Harry says, looking up from his sandwich. 

“Elvis, huh,” says Louis, nodding through a mouthful of food.

“Got a favorite song? Burning Love?”

Louis seems to contemplate as he chews. He swallows. “Well I guess it depends. Favorite sad song? Definitely Heartbreak Hotel. All-time favorite, though, that’s gonna be Devil in Disguise.”

“You’re the devil in disguise, oh yes you are,” Harry sings.

“That’s the one.”

“I like Elvis too,” says Harry.

“I sort of caught that, yeah. Not as much as The Stones though?”

“I do love The Stones.”

“Alright, favorite song, let’s have it.” Louis leans back on the rock like he’s waiting for Harry to entertain him.

“Don’t Stop,” Harry says right away. It’s always been his favorite. It’s so fun and easily sensual. Nick never let him put it on their sex playlist though. Harry tells Louis as much and takes private delight in the way Louis’ eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Nick says it’s too ‘bouncy’.” Harry makes air quotes.

“That’s…huh. I mean it is a bit.” Louis’ voice sounds thick. He clears his throat. “So this guy. Must be a real catch with all the trouble you’re going to here.”

“Yeah, he’s…” Oh god, Harry still hasn’t called him. Shit. He is the worst. He’ll do it as soon as they get into the city. “Nick’s really, uh, dedicated,” he finishes.

“Dedicated.” Louis arches one delicate eyebrow.

“Yeah, I mean like he takes his job really seriously, you know? And me! He’s dedicated to me, too, I mean he doesn’t ignore me or anything.”

Louis nods. “Alright, so far we’ve got he loves his job and he doesn’t _not_ talk to you. Glowing references.”

“Look, it’s not like that, okay? He’s just very responsible. He wants to make sure we’re ready for things. Financially. That’s why he wants us to wait to have kids. It’s probably why he hasn’t proposed yet.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sorry! Oh god, I’m really over-sharing. I do that sometimes, just like blargh, words everywhere, it’s…I need to like,” Harry clamps a hand over his mouth. “You know?”

Louis chuckles. “Whatever.”

The thing is, Louis is kinda nice. Well, not _nice_ nice. He’s not exactly friendly, but he’s good company. They talk some more about music, and it turns out Louis has a lot of insightful things to say about the industry. And he gets animated when he talks. Almost dangerously so. One moment he’s kicking a leg up in excitement over some new, stripped-down cover of Teenage Dirtbag. The next, he’s standing up on the rock, waving his arms around to emphasize a point about closeted musicians. Harry listens intently. He remembers the handful of cheesy songs he wrote with Niall back in school and wonders what Louis might have thought of them.

And the sigh Harry accidentally lets out when Louis gushes about seeing The Cure play live is one of exhaustion, _not_ fondness. 

Harry loses track of time. They get back on the road, but soon it starts to get dark. They are still a little over an hour from Dublin when they pull off at a bed and breakfast for the night. Louis’ probably tired from all that driving. And Leap day isn’t for another two days, so really there’s no hurry. 

And Harry is a little in love with the house already. The house is actually more of a cottage, all smooth stones covered in vines. There’s a gorgeous vegetable garden out front that makes Harry’s fingers itch for his pots and pans. Basically, the whole place looks like it was lifted directly from one of his dreams and set there for him. Harry concedes that parts of Ireland are not half bad.

That is until the kindly old woman at the front desk starts making all kinds of wild accusations.

“Let me guess, newly weds?” she says, clasping her hands over her heart. “How darling!”

Before Harry can open his mouth to set her straight, Louis says, “Yes, we are very happy. One room for the night, please,” with a sweet smile. 

“Of course, dears!” she says. “I know just the one. And what are your names?”

"I'm Louis, this is Harry."

"Pleasure to have you, Louis and Harry." As soon as she turns around to find them a key, Harry rounds on Louis.

“What in the hell are you playing at?” he hisses.

“These are traditional people, Harold. They hold traditional values. Unless you’ve got enough extra cash lying around to cover two rooms…?”

“Ok, fine, but we don’t have to be—"

“Here we are!” the woman says, holding up an old-fashioned skeleton key with a little plastic cat dangling from it. “This is my favorite room. Shh, don’t tell anybody!” She gives them a conspiratorial wink and leads them upstairs. 

When they reach the door she smiles and says, “We’re having some drinks in the sitting room in half an hour. We would love for you to join us. You can come meet everybody.” She unlocks the door and swings it open before handing Harry the key. “My name is Betty. George and I will be downstairs if you need anything.”

It’s all feeling a little déjà vu to Harry, although this woman’s approach to hospitality is a step up from the snark he received the night before. Also, more doilies.

They thank her and plop their bags down. When they flip on the lights, Harry gasps.

“Cats!” There are two of them, one on the chair and one on the windowsill. Harry rushes to pet the closest one, a gray tabby that nudges its head against his hand. The other cat hops down and makes its way toward him. Harry knows he’s grinning like a loon and he doesn’t care.

“Oh my god, you’re actually a batty old woman.” And it’s only then that Harry realizes he’s been repeating the word ‘cats’ under his breath with every stroke. Harry looks up with a glare. Louis is perched on the edge of the bed. _The bed_.

Harry straightens abruptly when he registers the sleeping situation. There’s an odd swooping sensation in his stomach because, honestly. This is some Drew Barrymore rom-com bullshit and Harry’s not buying. 

“I’m not sharing that bed with you,” he says, giving Louis what he hopes is an intimidating Serious Face.

“Suit yourself. You can sleep in the tub.” Louis kicks off his shoes and lies back against the pillows, stretching his body out over the expanse of mattress. Harry catches himself following the rise of Louis’ shirt hem and lets out a frustrated sound.

“Well, “ Louis says casually. “Whatever you prefer. Now, I believe Betty said something about drinks. So unless you’d rather stay here with the cats, I’m gonna wash up and head down.”

Harry sort of _would_ rather stay with the cats, but he’s not about to reveal that particular element of his personality. He walks to the sink and checks his hair in the mirror. It’s a bit deflated from the car ride. He combs his fingers through it a couple times, brushing it this way and that. After a moment he catches Louis’ eye in the mirror.

“Quite finished?” Louis quirks an eyebrow.

“Alright, alright. All yours.”

Louis winks. “Easy there.” And then he’s shooing Harry out and closing the bathroom door behind him. 

Harry stands staring at the door for a moment before the sound of water startles him and he sets about finding fresh clothes. With a stab of guilt, it occurs to him that Nick still doesn’t know he’s coming. Harry needs to call him.

He pulls on a pair of clean trousers and a fresh shirt before whipping out his phone and dialing Nick’s number.

Nick picks up after a couple rings. “Babe?”

“Nick! Hi! Um. Alright so I have a bit of a surprise for you.”

“Really? I’m uh, sort of at a company dinner thing—”

“I’m in Ireland.” Saying it out loud, it suddenly dawns on Harry that maybe Nick doesn’t want him here. _Maybe he’s too busy. Maybe Harry will just be in the way. Maybe this was a terrible idea and he’s ruined everything_.

There’s a pause on the other line. “Wait, what?”

Harry swallows. “Yeah, I’m uh. I’m here to see you, actually.”

“You’re in Dublin?” Nick sounds incredulous.

“Ah, well, no.” Harry lets out a nervous laugh. _Why is he nervous? Stop that_. “There were a few set backs. With rain. And cattle. But I’ll be there tomorrow! And I thought maybe we could have like a little Irish romantic getaway…thing. If you have time.”

Nick laughs. “Really? Huh, I’ve never known you to do something this adventurous.” And okay, that’s not really fair. Harry is always trying to get Nick to go on trips with him. But whatever. “Everything’s alright, yeah?”

“Yeah, everything—“

At that moment, the bathroom door opens and Harry is confronted with a dripping wet Louis, pink floral towel wrapped loosely around his hips, damp fringe hanging in his eyes. Harry’s words become not words.

“Every…uh—it’s the—with. Um?”

“Babe?” Nick sounds concerned. Harry’s face warms.

“Sorry—“

“Forgot my clothes,” Louis calls over his shoulder as he breezes past Harry. He smells flowery.

“Babe? What was that?”

“Wha-huh? Oh, yeah, no that’s just my…cabbie.” _Breathe, Styles. No, breathe like a normal person_. Harry blinks and turns away from Louis who is bent over his suitcase, pulling things out and dumping them on the floor.

“Ok,” Nick says slowly. “Well, I have a few meetings on Friday, but let’s grab a nice dinner after?”

“Alright, uh, cool.” Harry runs a hand through his curls.

Nick seems to sense Harry’s discomfort. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here. This’ll be fun.”

Harry sighs. “Me too.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” He hangs up and swallows.

Louis turns. “That your guy?”

Harry feels his face get warm all over again. “Yes, that was Nick.” He busies himself folding the clothes he had discarded and putting them back in the suitcase.

“And how is Mr. Dedication?”

“He’s fine—he’s great.” Harry has no more clothes to put away. Shit. “Okay well I’m gonna go, uh, see if they need help—” He walks to the door, miscalculates, and bumps into the doorframe. “—help with the drinks.” Maybe the rain will submerge all of Ireland and Harry will go to his watery grave without having to face another human being ever again. One can only hope.

The last thing Harry sees before he flees the scene is Louis’ smile, small and crinkly, and then Harry is out in the hall and he’s pretty sure he’ll never recover from whatever the hell that was.

Downstairs, Betty is in the kitchen. There is a man with her. They have the same wispy white hair. They don’t see Harry come in, and he leans against the countertop watching them put together a platter of biscuits. The man is humming to himself. He hip-checks Betty as he passes and she giggles, swatting at him. 

Harry clears his throat.

When she turns and sees him, she smiles warmly. “Oh lovely, you made it. Where’s that husband of yours?”

“Still getting ready. He’ll be right down.”

“Ah, is he the vain one then? My husband is the same way.” She pokes the other man in the ribs and he shrugs.

Harry chuckles. “I reckon I’m the vain one actually.” And Harry really needs to shut up because no, absolutely not, he is not the vain one, he is not the _anything_ one with Louis. He shakes his head. “Er, can I help you with that?” He picks up a tray laden with cups and saucers.

“Oh you’re a dear,” she says. “Just follow George into the sitting room. He’s got a little arrangement going on the coffee table. Just through there, yes, thank you.”  
Harry does as he’s told. George shows him to the sitting room. It’s cozy, full of generously cushioned furniture. They lay down the trays.

“Thank you for the room and the drinks and all that,” Harry says, because his mother taught him well.

“Oh, you’re very welcome, lad. Betty and I love to entertain. Especially when there’s food involved,” he adds with a wink.

“Me too!” says Harry. “I love feeding people.” George chuckles at that. “Unrelated thought,” Harry says, snagging a chocolate biscuit discretely. “What are the names of your cats? The ones in our—my room?”

George’s eyes twinkle. “Ah, yes. Betty’s two great loves. Sometimes, I think she’s fonder of them than she is of me!” He smirks. “But I’m the only one she lets use the handcuffs.”

Harry chokes on the biscuit. He manages a weak, “I see.”

“But their names are Boris and Natasha. Had ‘em for almost ten years now.”

“That’s so sweet. Good names.”

“Yes, well, Betty’s idea, of course.”

When they make their way back into the kitchen, another couple has joined the group.

“Harry!” Betty waves him over. “These are the Paynes. Newly-weds from England too! I’m sure you’ll have lots to talk about.”

The Paynes are an incredibly handsome couple. The man is well built and has the strong, tastefully stubbled jaw of an old film star. The woman could probably be a Kardashian, although Harry’s not really sure what a Kardashian looks like. They look to be about Harry’s age though, which makes him feel a little sick.  
The two of them introduce themselves as Liam and Sophia.

“We’re here on our honeymoon,” Liam explains, squeezing Sophia’s shoulder. They share a private smile like only they know what a honeymoon means.

“How nice,” says Harry. “What brings you out here?”

“Well,” says Sophia. “Li went to Uni in Ireland so he’s got loads of friends out here. And I hadn’t been since I was little, so. We just decided an adventure in Ireland would be perfect.”

“Not staying with those friends then? Are you roughing it?” asks Harry.

“Not the whole time,” Liam says. “We’re sort of bouncing between hostels and friends and stuff.”

“Not a lot of roughing it though.” Sophia adds. She leans in and stage-whispers, “Liam’s not very outdoorsy. Much as he tries to pretend he is with all his Timberland boots.”

“Hey!” Liam crosses his arms. He looks down at the pristine Timberland boots he is currently wearing. “Okay well, you’re not that outdoorsy either.”

“Well, I guess that’s why we’re married,” she says and pecks him on the cheek. Harry smiles. He likes them already.

They all make their way into the sitting room and take seats around the coffee table.

“So, Liam and Sophia,” Betty says, pouring a glass of wine. “Tell us about how you met. I love a good first meeting story.”

“Actually, we grew up together,” says Liam. “We dated a little when we got older, but we didn’t see each other for a while when I was over here for Uni.” He accepts the glass of wine Betty offers him. “But then we met at a friend’s party a few years later and we just thought, hey, let’s try this again.”

“It worked out pretty well,” Sophia says, patting his hand. “But of course he’ll have to maintain his six-pack if I’m gonna stick around.”

“Excuse me, I thought we decided after the kids I can let myself go.”

“No, no, _I_ can let myself go. You have to be my trophy husband forever.”

“Alright, fair enough.” He gives her another peck.

Harry grins. Betty passes him his own glass of wine. “And what about you?” she asks. “You and your husband, when did you meet?”

“About three years ago,” says a voice behind them. Harry turns to see Louis walk into the room. He’s wearing loose-fitting sweats and a cable knit jumper. He doesn’t look sharp anymore. He looks so, so soft. Harry is seized with the urge to bury his face in his hair. Or his chest. Or just hug him or something.

Instead he narrows his eyes. “Was it really? It feels like _no time at all_.”

Louis chuckles and drops down onto the sofa beside him.

“Would you like some wine, love?” Betty holds out a glass.

“Very much, thank you.”

She pours. “The Paynes were just telling us about how they met. They just got married,” she adds.

“Congratulations,” Louis says, raising his glass.

“Thank you,” Liam and Sophia say together.

“So?” prompts Betty. “What’s your story, you two? I can tell it’s a good one.”

Harry barks out an uncomfortable laugh. “You know, it’s not really.”

“Oh, please. I saw your face when he walked in the room. Love like that is always a good story.”  
Harry turns beet red. “Um.”

“It was here in Ireland, actually,” Louis says, coming to his rescue. Harry doesn’t look at him. “We, um. Well, he was here. He was here because…” Louis seems short on ideas.

“I was here to visit…relatives.” Harry supplies.

“Right.” Louis looks at him for a moment, then seems to make up his mind about something. “We met when he checked into the inn that I run.”

“What! That is such a good story.” Betty reaches over and puts a hand on Louis’ knee. “A chance encounter. But how did you fall in _love_. What was the moment? When did you _know?_ ”

“Ah.” Louis takes a swig from his wine glass. He takes his time coming up with a response. “I think…I think it was pretty much an instant thing for me. I don’t know. There was no moment because, uh,” He shrugs. “Meeting him was the moment.”

Harry feels his entire midsection plummet through the floor. _Get a grip, Styles. He’s not serious, he’s making it up. You are engaged. No you’re not. Okay no you’re not, but practically._ Harry takes another sip of his wine. In his peripheries he might see Louis watching him, but Harry can't look. He can only drink and sweat.

“Wow,” says Sophia, turning to Liam after a moment. “You need to work on your sweeping romantic speeches.”

“I’m romantic!” he says, crossing his arms in indignation for the second time that night.

“I’m afraid announcing to your handful of twitter followers that I have a ‘cute hiney’ just isn’t enough anymore.”

“Well, that was just lovely, dear.” Betty’s smile is massive. 

“Oh, how ‘bout a kiss,” says George, pouring himself a second glass of wine.

Louis looks stricken. “No, no.” He gives Harry a worried look. “We’re not big on PDA.”

“Oh, come off it!” George takes Betty’s face in his hands and plants a loud kiss on her mouth. “See? Easy!” Betty’s cheeks are a little pink. Possibly from the wine.

“You great numpty, don’t pressure them.” She smacks the side of his head, and he bends down to nuzzle her shoulder.

And okay. Harry is not one to be outdone in the romantic department. He is a bleeding-heart romantic through and through, and fake marriage or not, he isn’t about to let a thing like that go. Nick would understand, surely. They need to make it convincing, right? Cause these people are clearly very…traditional. Well. At any rate, there’s no backing out of the story now or they’ll think he and Louis are liars. Or scam artists or something. And they need this place to stay or they'll probably freeze to death outside. Definitely. And Louis is wearing a cable knit jumper.

Harry takes his last swig of wine and snakes a hand around the back of Louis’ neck. Louis’ eyes widen in surprise for a moment and then he’s leaning closer, keeping them trained on Harry’s. Louis brings his hands up to cup Harry’s face, and Harry actually _sighs_. It was supposed to be a quick kiss. But hell, Louis doesn’t pull away and if Harry’s being honest, he’s not about to let him.

When they do break apart, Harry is a little breathless. Louis looks like he’s been hit over the head with something blunt. Betty looks like she might combust.

“Incredible,” she says. “Three years and it still feels just as magical as your first kiss.”

“Right on, mate,” says Liam.

Harry realizes with horror that he'd like to try that again maybe. 

They all retire to their rooms soon after that. George makes a joke about soundproof walls. Harry exchanges numbers with Liam and Sophia and tells them to look him up next time they’re in London.

And then they’re back at the room, and Harry is standing awkwardly against the wall while Louis gets into the bed. 

“G’night,” he finally says after a minute, heading into the bathroom.

“Harold.”

“What?”

Louis shakes his head. “You’re not really gonna sleep in the tub are you?” Harry doesn’t say anything. “Harry, it’s just a bed, look. Plenty of room.”  
Harry doesn’t want to sleep in the tub. Harry wants to sleep in the bed. Harry wants to sleep with Louis in the bed. Harry wants to sleep with Louis. _Nope! Deep breathing now._

“Fine, alright.” Harry kicks off his jeans and pulls off his shirt and crawls into the bed. Louis reaches over to the bedside lamp. With a soft click, the room goes dark.

Harry’s eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling, even though he can’t see it. His breathing sounds too loud. _Why does his breathing sound so loud?_

“So apparently, the cats’ names are Boris and Natasha.” Harry really doesn’t know why he’s bringing this up now.

“No kidding?”

“Yeah.” A thought occurs to Harry. “Do you think that makes us Rocky and Bullwinkle?”

“You are so the moose.”

Harry giggles. “You are so the squirrel.”

“Fair enough,” Louis laughs softly. They fall into silence, and Harry closes his eyes.

After a few moments, he hears Louis’ disembodied voice again. “Hey,” he says. “Are you asleep?”

“Louis, it’s been like less than a minute.”

Harry feels Louis shift his weight. There’s a beat, then, “You and Nick. What’s your, uh…story?”

Harry turns his head toward Louis’ voice. “You mean like how we met?”

“Yeah. And the other stuff.”

“Well.” Harry thinks back to that day. Nick’s coworker, who used to play bass in Harry’s old band, had set them up. The first date itself had been very posh. The food was excellent. They talked about the new Adam Sandler movie. Harry offered to split the check, but Nick had insisted on paying. They went on another date the next week, and it just kind of escalated from there.

“Cool,” says Louis. 

“I don’t remember about the other stuff. Like when I ‘knew’ or whatever? We just kind of started saying it one day. It was like a natural progression I guess.”

“Hmm.”

They fall back into their silence. “Hey, Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For driving me to Dublin and all that.”

Louis snorts. “You’re paying me to do it.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry you're missing happy hour.”

“You’re hogging the blanket, Harold.”

Harry smiles in the darkness. “’Night, Louis.” He resists the urge to roll over and throw an arm around the cheeky, shadowy lump in his bed, but it’s a near thing. Instead, Harry lays on his back and closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing for what feels like the hundredth time that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh sorry that took longer than I'd hoped cause I was moving back into the dorms and doin' the schooly stuff bUT it's also an extra long chapter so THERE.
> 
> Also I forgot!! The title (and the little thingy thing at the top of the first chapter) is from the song Run Away With Me by Kerrigan-Lowdermilk and if you haven't heard it you should go, go now. Find the one where Jeremy Jordan sings it cause damn.


	3. Castles, Finger Food, And a Parting of Ways

Harry wakes up with a cat on his face and no Louis in his bed. And as much as he might appreciate the former simply for his proximity to a cat, the latter is distractingly worrisome. 

He lifts the cat, gently sets her on the bed, and sits up. The door to the bathroom is wide open; no Louis. Harry checks his phone. The screen is awash with text message notifications. Mostly from Niall, threatening to call Harry’s mum if he doesn’t give him an update, then one from his mum, who wants to know what the hell her son is doing in Ireland but also whether he can pick her up a nice wall tapestry while he’s there. There are also a couple from Nick, asking what time he can expect Harry to arrive.

Harry’s stomach plummets when he reads Nick’s name. He feels a twinge of guilt and something else. He feels oddly heavy.

Before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s dialing Nick’s number again. On the third ring, Nick picks up.

“Babe?”

Harry’s not really sure what he wanted to say or why he called or what’s going on. His head hurts. “Um. Hi.”

“Hi.” Nick waits for a moment, but Harry doesn’t say anything. “So…are you on the road?” Nick prompts.

“Uh, no.” Something in Harry’s brain snaps back into place then. “Not yet, but I will be soon. How are you?”

“I’m doing well. We’ve picked up a couple new clients who seem very keen. Simon’s happy with things, so I guess I’m happy too. Happier when you’re here though,” he says with a little laugh.

Harry smiles and rolls his eyes out of habit. “Don’t get cute with me.” He picks at a loose thread on the comforter.

“Hey, by the way,” Nick says. “I’m sorry your trip’s been so shit.”

“Oh, no it hasn’t really been,” Harry says hurriedly. “Well, I mean I guess it has,” he adds. “But. It’s been kinda nice. And it’s…there’s beautiful scenery.”

Nick snorts. “Yeah if you like cows and rocks. Where are you anyway?”

“Hey, maybe I do like cows and rocks.”

“Is that so?” Harry can practically hear his raised eyebrow. “The Harry Styles I know likes his cows ‘tastefully undercooked’ and the only time he’s shown an interest in rocks, he was ordering a margarita.”

Harry sighs in exasperation. “Well, I like those things too. I like a lot of things. I’m _layered_.”

“Oh is that right?” 

"But the point still stands."

"Uh huh," Nick is laughing, and Harry isn’t sure how to explain that he’s not really joking.

Harry clears his throat. “Right, well, look. I’d better go. Sooner I’m off, the sooner I see you and all that,” Harry says, stretching.

“Of course, of course.” Nick’s voice is still laced with mirth. “See you soon, babe. Love you.”

“Yeah. Love you, too.” As he hangs up, Harry thinks he hears the door click shut behind him. He turns, expecting to see Louis, but there’s no one there. He shrugs. _Must have imagined it._ What he definitely does not imagine is the loud and insistent rumble his stomach makes at that moment. 

He supposes he shouldn’t go down to the kitchen in his briefs, so he throws on last night’s kit— _really, what has gotten into him lately?_ \--and heads downstairs. 

When Harry reaches the kitchen, Louis is there with his back to the door, taking dishes of food off of a large tray.

Harry sidles up next to him. “What’s that?”

Louis jumps about a meter in the air, nearly dropping the teacup in his hand. “Jesus Christ, Harold, give a man some warning.”

“Sorry,” Harry says with a smile that decidedly isn’t. “So, what is that?”

“What’s what?”

Harry stares pointedly at the tray, now almost empty.

“Ah, right this.” Louis hesitates for a split second, then, “It’s my breakfast. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Harry raises an eyebrow. “Why the tray?”

“I wanted breakfast in bed,” Louis says with a shrug.

“You came all the way downstairs to make breakfast for yourself to take all the way back up to bed.”

“It sounded good,” he says, turning back around.

“You’re ridiculous, Louis.”

Louis pauses. From behind, Harry can see his jaw clench and release. “Are you packed? I’ve already missed one happy hour, let’s not make it a habit, yeah?”

His tone is light, but there’s a detached sharpness behind it that startles Harry. 

“Um. Okay? I mean Dublin’s not far now, yeah?”

“Hey, sooner we’re off, the sooner you can see Mr. Dedication, am I right?”

“I guess.” He wishes Louis would turn around so he could see his face and maybe figure out what the hell is going on here.

“Great. We’ll leave in half an hour.” Louis grabs a scone from the counter and brushes past Harry out of the kitchen.

Harry blinks. _What the fuck_.

He wracks his brain for where in their seemingly innocent banter about breakfast he had managed to fuck things up. Harry bites his lip. Absentmindedly, he picks up a strip of bacon from one of the plates. Really though, how did this trip get to be so bloody complicated? When he’d set out, Dublin had seemed so far away, an epic voyage, ending in a beautiful engagement with the possible inclusion of a string quartet. But then there were cows and Elvis songs and soft sweaters, and now Dublin doesn’t feel far away at all. Harry can feel whatever’s left of his control on the situation slipping. He takes a bite of bacon.

“’Morning, dear!”

Harry startles out of his thoughts as Betty bustles into the kitchen. She is wearing earth-covered gardening gloves and a wide-brimmed sun hat. She gives him a warm smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Betty winks. “Don’t worry, we didn’t hear a thing.”

Harry chokes a little. “That’s—we weren’t—”

Betty chuckles and elbows him lightly. “I’m just teasing you, lad.” She glances at the tray then. “You didn’t want it?”

Harry blinks. “Huh?”

“The breakfast, you barely touched it. Are you feeling alright?” She takes off a glove and touches her hand to his forehead.

“I—what, this? Oh, no this is Louis’.”

She fixes him with a skeptical look. “You sure about that? I thought he ate with George and Liam on the patio a little while ago.”

“He—wait what?” Now Harry is very lost. “Well he said it was his breakfast.”

“Funny,” Betty says with a shrug. “I was so sure when I saw him carrying it upstairs that he was gonna surprise you with it.” She laughs. “Ah, but he’s young. I suppose he can be excused a hefty appetite.” 

“Oh.” Harry says, and then _Oh_. “You know, on second thought, I think I’ll put some of this in a to-go bag.”

“Certainly, dear.”

He stuffs a couple plastic bags with bacon and some toast and heads back up the stairs. _Louis made him breakfast? Maybe?_ Harry tries to ignore the way his stomach flutters at the idea. _But if the breakfast was for him, why had Louis been so weird about it? And why hadn’t he just given it to him?_ Harry is even more confused than before. When he opens the door, Louis is zipping his bag closed. He doesn’t look up when Harry walks past him to sit on the bed.  
And, alright. Harry is brilliant at a lot of things. He can pair the perfect wine with any meal, he can make those little flower things out of icing, and he can sauté onions like a fucking animal. But he cannot for the life of him untangle all the weirdness in his brain, let alone articulate it. So he tries for casual.

“I packed us some snacks for the road,” Harry says, holding up the baggies.

“Great,” Louis says, straightening up. “I’m gonna take this down to the car. Let me know when you’re all packed.” His voice is clipped, efficient. He rolls the small suitcase out the door without another word.

Harry sighs and looks over at Boris. Or the cat he’s decided is Boris. “Divas, am I right?”

Boris nods understandingly and licks his own butt. Harry starts packing.

 

When he finally hauls all his bags outside, Louis is already waiting in the car. Betty is leaning on the driver’s side door talking to him animatedly through the window.

“Can I give you a hand with those?”

Harry turns to see Liam coming down the stairs, closely followed by Sophia.

“Oh, no, thanks. I can manage.”

“It’s no trouble, really!” Liam says.

“Just let him do it, he loves to show off how strong he is,” Sophia chimes in. “And I need my morning coffee before I watch you two out-nice each other.”

Liam grabs a bag and swings it over his shoulder. Well, shit. The man is definitely strong.

“You a fireman or something?” Harry asks, laughing, as they lug the bags to the car together.

“In training,” Liam says, nodding.

 _Of course you are_.

“Hey, I’m sorry to see you go so soon,” Liam adds. “Sophia and I had such a nice time last night.”

“Yeah, same here. You two are adorable.”

Liam laughs. “She’s the adorable one. I’m just here to remind her and anybody who’ll listen.”

“Sickening,” Harry says, shaking his head.

“I know, I know. It’s terrible.”

They load the bags into the car.

“Don’t forget to look me up when you’re back in London,” Harry says.

“Oh yeah, absolutely.” Liam smiles warmly. “Safe travels, mate.”

Harry clambers into the front seat after thanking Betty profusely and giving her a tight hug and demanding that she thank George for him as well. “And Boris and Natasha,” he adds. “For sharing their room.”

Then they are on the road again, and Louis is back to the silent brooding. After enduring a series of one-word responses, Harry gives up trying to make conversation.  
He fiddles with his phone, sends Niall an impressively grotesque selfie, to which Niall responds _pls, I have a bf._ After another period of staring out the window, Harry sighs and punches the button for the CD player. It clicks a couple times, while it wakes up.

And then Harry nearly jumps out of his skin because honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it was definitely not the Spice Girls. And definitely not at that volume. 

Louis lunges toward the stereo, feeling around for the off button. “It’s not—” He shuts it off and the car is dead silent for a moment. “It’s my sister’s,” Louis says finally. He looks stricken.

Harry laughs. “Don’t give me that.” He pokes Louis lightly in the arm. “We all need a little Spice in our lives.”

“Fuck off.” But Louis’ mouth twitches in what Harry decides is enough of a smile to merit further antagonizing. “Fuck right off.”

“Hey, fine, if that’s what you want.” Harry takes a dramatic pause. “What you really, really want.”

“Alright that’s it, I swear to god, Harold, I will turn this car around.”

Harry internally shushes the part of his brain that wants Louis to do just that because really, what good would that do? Instead, he stares out the window and watches as the landscape flies by too fast. _Where the hell is a good herd of cows when you need one?_ Just then something else catches his eye. 

“Castle!” Harry presses his nose to the glass. Crumbling stone walls slide in and out of view between grassy hills. Something about the old ruin grabs at Harry. He needs to see it up close. “Oh my god,” he says. “Wait, pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over, pull over!” Harry practically shouts, smacking Louis with excitement. 

“Fine, okay, okay!” Louis does as he’s told, then fixes Harry with a raised eyebrow, which Harry is beginning to grow accustomed to. “Alright, what’s all this then?”

Two days ago, Harry had no interest in castles. Two days ago, he was also completely sure about where the hell his life was heading, what he would wear, and with whom. But now, here he is driving around in the middle of Fuck-Knows-Where Ireland with a moody, pretty boy who isn’t his boyfriend in essentially the same outfit he wore the day before and fuck it. That’s a cool castle.

“Come on, we’re gonna stretch our legs,” Harry says, opening the passenger door. “It’ll do us good.”

“You gave me a heart attack, possibly taking a year off my life, so you could stretch your legs?”

“And,” Harry says, hopping out of the car. “Explore that castle. Maybe you can tell me about its history and stuff, Mr. I Live In Ireland And I Don’t Need A Map Cause I Know Everything.”

“Honestly, Harry. What makes you think I actua—”

“Come on, unleash your knowledge on me.”

Louis regards him in silence for a moment then lets out a snort. “Right, well first thing to know is it was built by an Irish earl named Fabian.”

“Fabian.”

“That’s right. Around 1100 AD, I believe.”

“Are you pulling this out of your arse?”

“One hundred percent, yes.”

Harry grins. “Go on.”

They trudge down the hill toward the ancient stone structure, and Harry listens to Louis’ history lesson.

“These walls were actually held together by a special adhesive, which was later developed into the modern day scrambled egg.”

“No kidding?”

Louis puts his hands up. “Would I lie to you?” Harry snorts and shakes his head. “That’s right. Fabian was short on staff, so he asked his kitchen staff to help build the castle.”

“Naturally.”

“Well, cooks are very one-track-minded, you know.”

“Hey! I’m a cook,” Harry says, kicking at Louis’ feet.

“Wait, seriously?” Louis cocks his head.

“ _Would I lie to you_?” Harry says, laughing. “Yes, you’re talking to a genuine culinary genius, so you better watch yourself.”

“Well, shit,” Louis laughs too. “I should have made _you_ cook the breakfast—” As soon as he says it, Louis’ eyes widen. “I mean—I should have been putting you to better use is all.”

Harry looks at him intently, but Louis avoids his gaze. Harry sighs. “Well, it’s been said that my omelets could resolve most of the nation’s conflicts.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Louis grins, and Harry’s chest tightens. _Bloody hell_. “So, these egg walls. Something I should consider in my next renovation?”

“As long as you don’t mind the smell. Or the rats.” 

When they reach the castle, Harry notices a garland of flowers draped over the entrance arch.

“D’you think this Fabian guy still has house parties?” Harry asks, nodding at them.

“Guess we’ll have to investigate.”

They duck under the flowers. Inside the ruins, there are a few people milling about, holding wine glasses. Harry looks around and immediately has the uncomfortable, somewhat foreign feeling of being under-dressed. Louis stoops to pick up a folded paper on the ground.

“Hang on,” he says, scanning the paper. “I think we just crashed a wedding.” 

He hands it to Harry. On the front is a picture of two doves facing each other on either side of a cross. The names “Pam and Frank” are written across the top in curly script. Inside the fold are the lyrics to a couple short hymns and a program.

“Ah,” says Harry, scanning the program.

“How about that.”

“Wait, so does that make us Luke Wilson and Vince Vaughn now?”

“It’s Owen Wilson,” Louis says, looking scandalized. “And yes, obviously I’m Vince Vaughn.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well for one thing, I don’t have the puppy dog cutes to be Owen Wilson.”

“Alright, now you’re just trying to flatter me,” Harry says, batting his eyes.

“That’s right, cause I’m the smooth talking lady’s man, Vince Vaughn.” Louis pretends to whip off a pair of sunglasses. 

“That sounds about right.” Harry laughs. “But we should probably go. Neither of us are in proper garden party attire.”

“Are you kidding?” Louis snatches the paper back. “Program says the service is over, do you know what that means?”

“Nuptial bliss for Pam and Frank?”

“And?”

Harry grins. “Free finger food?”

Louis nods solemnly. 

Suddenly, Harry has an idea. “Alright, here’s the activity.” He grabs Louis by the sleeve and pulls him in a bit closer. Just so they won’t be overheard. Obviously. “So I played this game with Niall years ago at my mum’s wedding—”

“Niall?”

“My best mate.”

“Right.”

“You’d like him, actually.”

“Why, does he share your quick wit and snappy sense of style?”

“No, but he’s a right snarky shit.”

“Oh, brilliant.”

“And he loves the Spice Girls.”

“It was my sister’s!”

“Anyway, the object of the game is to collect one of each kind of those mini appetizers they serve before the other person. Meaning me.”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Except, to make it more interesting this time, you can’t end the game until you’ve had a successful conversation with one of the bride or groom’s parents.”

“Ah, tricky,” Louis says, nodding.

“Yeah, so like appetizers are the quaffle right? But parents are the golden snitch.”

Louis’ eyes light up at that. “Alright, you’re on, Harold.”

“I should warn you though,” Harry says. “I’ve got a way with dads.” And then, because he’s feeling bold, he says under his breath, “They fucking love me,” and winks.

Louis’ face turns a bit red. He swallows. “I can’t imagine why that would be.” 

Harry holds out a hand and Louis shakes it.

“On your marks. Get set. Go.”

Collecting the food is easy enough. Holding it all at the same time is proving a bit more difficult. Harry balances a mini quiche on top of a fruit cup in one hand, and three different kinds of meat-filled pastries in the other, all the while scouring the crowd of cheerful guests for signs of parents.

It does not escape Harry’s notice that the reception itself is beautiful. The castle overlooks a wide expanse of Irish landscape; hills and cliffs and the like. There are flowers everywhere, and a five-piece chamber orchestra, which Harry thinks is a nice touch. 

He pictures himself standing under the castle arch, his mum in the front row of chairs with Gemma. Niall and Zayn at his side. Niall would be chuffed as all hell if Harry got married in Ireland. Harry snorts, as he imagines what Niall would say when he told him. It would probably involve a lot of happy swearing. 

Just then, Louis rushes by, hands full of food. “Good luck snagging a cheese pasty, mate. They’ve just about run out!” Then he flat out cackles as he runs away and Harry is seized by a powerful urge to kiss his stupid face. 

And that’s when it dawns on Harry how spectacularly fucked he is.

He really needs a drink. No, what he _needs_ is to find the father of the bride so he can end this game and get back in the car and propose to his boyfriend and be happy and domestic with the person he loves for the rest of his life. 

The rest of his life. 

Suddenly, Harry feels uncomfortably warm. The air is stifling, heavy. It’s too close, everything is just too close, and _god why is his shirt collar so tight and why is he carrying around so much food and how is he supposed to know what he’s gonna want in a year, let alone the rest of his life?_

He finds a spot away from the crowd and sits down on a low crumbling wall. He dumps the collection of food on the ground beside him and drops his head into his hands. After a couple of deep breaths, he looks back up. Absently, he watches the small orchestra pack up their instruments, chatting and laughing with each other. Eventually they all fold up their chairs and the members leave together.

“There you are!”

Harry looks up, startled.

“Was starting to get a bit worried about you,” Louis says, plopping down next to him. “Almost rallied the ring bearer and flower girl for a search party.” He smiles. “Had a good long chat with Frank’s mother. Turns out, her brother goes fishing right by my inn. Comes by for a pint every so often. How crazy is that!”

“That’s pretty crazy,” Harry says. His voice sounds hoarse to his own ears.

“So I think it’s safe to say I won.”

“You are victorious.”

Louis tilts his head. “Oy, you okay?”

Harry nods.

“Alright then.” Louis is looking at him intently, and Harry really can’t think about that too much because if Louis is gonna be caring and attentive, well. That’s only going to make matters worse.

“No. I don’t know,” says Harry after a moment.

“What?”

“If I’m…” Harry waves his hand around vaguely. “Alright.”

Louis’ hand twitches. For a moment, Harry thinks he might rest it on Harry’s leg or something. He doesn’t. Which is fine. Instead, he says “Why?” very softly.

Harry groans. “I don’t know, I just—I think I need more time, there’s not enough like, I just feel like I’m…I don’t know.” Harry can hear how hysterical he sounds, but he can’t seem to release the tightness in his throat. “Like I just need more…time,” he finishes weakly. 

“More time for what?”

Harry sighs. “I don’t know, nevermind. We should probably head back to the car.”

“Oh, right.” Louis jumps up. “Of course, yeah. God, I’m so—you have important things to—and here I am, making you stay at this dumb wedding when you’re—”

“Louis.” Louis stops abruptly and Harry tries to compose his thoughts into something comprehensible and not too terribly embarrassing. 

_Singing in the car with you was the most comfortable I’ve felt in ages._

_I want to keep singing with you._

_I want to cook for you._

_When I think that I might not see you again, I feel physically ill._

Harry stands, a bit shaky, turns to Louis and swallows. 

“I think I might not be ready,” he says, then rolls his eyes at himself because honestly. “Look, yes, I’m officially a cliché. You were right about Leap Day. And me. And Nick. And I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know what I—what I thought I’d gain from this. I’m in another bloody country for Christ’s sake, and I can’t—”

“Harry.” 

Louis rests a hand on his arm, and the brief contact sends a shock of electricity through Harry. He sucks in a sharp breath and without thinking, Harry surges forward but stops abruptly, inches from Louis’ face because _god that was stupid that was stupid what are you doing why did you do that? Shit._

“Sorry—”

But he doesn’t get to finish because Louis makes a noise at the back of his throat and closes the gap between them and that’s when Harry loses his train of thought as well as the capacity to form any coherent thoughts at all.

Louis cradles Harry’s head in both hands, and Harry feels himself melting into the touch. The kiss is different than their first. Of course it is, because this time Harry isn’t struggling to interpret it. There is nothing ambiguous about the way Louis’ mouth parts for him or the way Harry’s grip on Louis’ shirt tightens when Louis’ thumbs rubs circle along his jaw. This time it’s not a performance. This is just for them.

“Ahem.”

They break apart and it’s like coming out of a coma. It takes Harry a moment to regain his bearings. Then he registers a short, rather gray man, holding the hand of a little girl and looking decidedly put-upon.

“Er—” Harry glances at Louis, who opens his mouth for what will undoubtedly be a cheeky retort. Harry mutters a hurried apology and grabs Louis’ hand, tugging him away before he makes a scene and the man realizes that they aren’t actually guests.

They walk back to the car in silence. Somewhere along the way, their fingers lace together, and Harry can feel the steady rub of Louis’ thumb along the side of his hand. 

Harry wants to pull Louis in a little closer, rest his head on top of Louis’, but he doesn’t dare make any sudden movements, doesn’t dare disrupt the quiet comfort they have.

They reach the car and get in without a word. It’s quiet enough that Harry can hear both of them breathing softly until Louis starts the car. They merge back onto the main road. And if Louis’ driving a little slower than usual, Harry doesn’t mention it.

Harry wants to talk to Louis, wants Louis to talk, banter like before. It feels like a waste to spend their limited time together not talking, but Harry can’t think of anything to fill the silence. It’s too delicate. So he says nothing, and Louis says nothing, and the silence drags on.

But despite the complete silence, when they pass a sign welcoming them to Dublin, it feels like the fastest hour of Harry’s life.

“Do you know where he’s staying?” Louis’ voice is rough. Probably from lack of use.

“Oh.” Nick had texted him the address of the hotel. Harry fishes out his phone and reads it out to Louis.

They fall back into their quiet stillness, and it’s too much for Harry.

He touches Louis’ shoulder tentatively. “Lou—”

“He might like to know you’re almost there.”

Harry blinks and takes his hand back. “Right, yeah.” He picks up his phone again and sends off a quick message. He glances over at Louis, who doesn’t take his eyes off the road. There’s a faint prickle at the back of Harry’s eyes, and that is just unacceptable, he is _not_ going to cry. He looks away from Louis and stares straight ahead at the road with him. 

Dublin is a stupid town.

And that’s the hotel. _Great. It looks like a giant fancy ice cube._

Louis pulls up to the curb and turns off the car. “Well,” he says. “This is your stop.”

“Here it is,” Harry’s voice is shallow.

“Oh, hang on.” Louis hops out of the car and walks around back to the boot. He takes Harry’s luggage out and sets it on the pavement.

Harry takes out his wallet and calculates what he owes. He leaves the proper amount on dashboard plus a little extra and bites his lip, staring at the money. After a moment he makes up his mind. He grabs a pen from his backpack and the program from Pam and Frank’s wedding. Turning it over, he writes on the back: _Styles &Horan Catering Co._. He pauses trying to think of something else to say. Something clever and witty but heartfelt, but all he can think to say is _Thank you_. So he does.

“Harry, you okay?” Louis calls from behind the car.

“Coming, yeah!” He calls back, sliding the program under the money. Then he grabs his backpack and hops out of the car. Louis is standing by the luggage looking tired.

“We need to work on your transitions,” he says as Harry approaches. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Well, Harold.” Louis holds out a hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Harry takes the hand and shakes. “Likewise. You were a terrible cabbie, but I suppose you could have been a serial killer, so it could have been worse.”

“I could still be a serial killer.”

“Nah, you’re not that interesting.”

Louis chuckles. “Fair point.” 

They stand there looking at each other. Harry tries to commit every detail to memory. The light scruff on his cheek, the delicate features, small hands, his smile, the crinkles it makes by his eyes, his perpetually messy hair. 

After a moment, Louis squeezes Harry’s hand and lets it drop.

“See you around, Harry.”

“Yeah.” It almost sounds like a choke. “Bye, Louis.”

And with that, Harry grabs his bags, turns around, and walks toward the automatic doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS IT'S BEEN ALMOST A MONTH?? I'M SO SORRY. I would love to say it's because I've been terribly terribly busy, but honestly it just took forever and I don't even know why. And then after all that time, I give you angst. Did I mention I'm sorry? Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading :) NEXT UPDATE WILL BE FASTER.
> 
> A million thanks, as always, to Ruth my glorious beta who also holds me to the deadlines I set for myself. I LOOOOVE YOUU.


	4. Best Friends, More Elvis, And Another Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi. Did I say the next update would be quicker? Has it been over two months?? Am I the worst ever??? Yes, yes, and yes.  
> AHHHH I'm so sorry y'all I hope you haven't given up on me!!! THERE WERE FINALS AND THEN MORE FINALS AND OH GOD I'VE BEEN SO AWOL UGH. But now it's done and I'm for sure gonna post the final chapter before I go back to school so SOON. LIKE VERY SOON. #christmasmiracle
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (More groveling to come in my end of chapter notes because wow)

“I don’t get it,” Niall says, setting down his mug of tea. The afternoon sun streams in through the kitchen window, bathing half his face in light. “I mean, you went all the way to Ireland to propose to the guy, for Christ’s sake.”

“I know, I know.” Harry must look as wretched as he feels. He’s barely slept since he left Dublin. Nick stayed to finish up some paperwork, but Harry suspects he just didn’t want to be stuck on a train for hours with the guy who wrecked his life. That’s just a guess. 

The whole train back Harry thought he might be sick on the woman next to him, who, for her part, eyed Harry wearily from as far away as the cramped seats would allow and stayed that way for the duration of the trip. Poor thing.

“When I got your message last night, I thought you were gonna tell me you were like terminally ill or something,” Niall says.

Harry shakes his head. “Just a terminally horrible person who doesn’t deserve to be happy ever again.”

“Come off it, Harry. What actually happened?” Niall’s face is taught, his brow knit in concern.

“Nothing.” Harry rests his head facedown on the counter and groans. “I mean, I don’t know. It was sort of just…a lot.”

“Uh huh.” 

Niall looks like he wants to be supportive but isn’t sure what to be supportive of. He’s silent for a moment as Harry keeps his face pressed to the countertop. The tile is cool against his nose and forehead. 

“So…” Niall finally prompts. “Why, then?”

Harry doesn’t move. His mind does that thing it keeps doing lately where it plays back the past few days in like, best-of sports highlights.

_Louis singing Elvis songs, his delicate tinny voice amplified in the cramped space of the car. Louis in soft sweaters. Louis with his arms full of stolen wedding food, face flushed with excitement. The way he’d said Harry’s name so softly before he’d kissed him._

_Kissing Louis._

“Those damn cows,” Harry sighs.

“Pardon?”

“It’s all their fault. They made me feel the things.” He looks up. Niall is looking at him oddly.

“You dumped your boyfriend because you felt things…about cows?”

“No! Not—oh my god, Niall, not _about_ the cows. I just—” Harry throws his hands up in defeat. “The cows made us late, and then those inn keepers kept saying things, and after that it was just totally unfair cause _he_ said things and I just.” Harry sighs and rubs his face. “Niall, I snogged my cabbie.”

In hindsight, Harry probably should have waited for Niall to finish his sip of tea because now it’s all over Harry’s shirt and dripping down Niall’s chin. It’s rather scalding.

“Er. Sorry.” Niall goes for the kitchen rag and dabs a bit at Harry’s shirt.

“It’s fine, sorry,” Harry says, taking the rag and working at it himself.

“Sounds like maybe we should move on to the stronger stuff anyway,” says Niall.

“It’s 3:00 in the afternoon, mate.”

“So, gin?”

“Yeah.”

Niall goes to the liquor cabinet. “Zayn got a bottle for his office party on Friday, but we’ve got loads left. He’ll understand if we take the rest. The need is great.”

“Brilliant.”

Niall takes the bottle down and leads Harry into the sitting room. Harry slumps onto the couch and Niall perches across from him on the edge of the coffee table. He hands Harry the bottle.

“Alright, start from the beginning.”

So Harry does. He tells Niall the whole story, every detail he can remember, and Harry feels the tightness in his chest loosen a bit. His breathing gets easier. Niall is a good listener.

When Harry gets to the part about Betty and George, Niall barks out a laugh. “They sound like me aunt and uncle. It’s like I know ‘em.”

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, I have a feeling you’d get on.”

He goes on to describe the incident with the breakfast in bed and crashing the wedding. When he gets to the part with the second kiss, his chest constricts again. He takes a gulp from the bottle and continues, throat burning.

When he finishes, Niall lets out a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you tell Nick all that? The kiss, I mean?”

Harry looks down at his hands. “No. I didn’t tell him any of that. I mean, I told him I couldn’t—that I needed a break.”

“Is that what this is? A break?”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t know. At this point, I can’t really see myself going back to him. I mean it sucked—like really sucked—breaking it off.” Harry remembers with vivid clarity the surprise and the hurt on Nick’s face when he’d told him in that hotel room. The way he’d looked at Harry like he wasn’t quite processing any of it. 

Harry had cried a lot. Nick stayed very quiet. It would have been better if he’d yelled, fought, something. The shock was so much worse than anger.

“But it felt right afterwards,” Harry says. “Like necessary, you know?”

Niall nods. “Still,” he says. “Four years is a long time. Must’ve been some cabbie.”

“It wasn’t just the cabbie.” Harry sighs. “I just. I realized that I went all that way to marry Nick because I had this picture in my head of how I wanted my life to go, right? And he fit into that picture so perfectly, but now, the picture is…I have a different picture of something…else? And I don’t even really know what that picture is exactly. It’s still…developing.”

“Strong finish on that metaphor, mate.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Harry lets out a soft laugh.

“Well,” Niall says, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder with a grin. “When do I get to meet this cabbie, then?”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He tugs at a stray thread on his jeans. He can feel the familiar prickle at the back of his eyes again and clenches his jaw.

“Oh no you don’t,” Niall says. “As stated in the Best Mate Handbook, you are required to introduce him to me before you elope, I’m serious, Harry. If you elope without a thorough Horan inspection, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“That’s not gonna be a problem,” Harry says, feeling tired. “We aren’t eloping.”

Niall stares at him. “But.” His eyes narrow. “You are _seeing_ him again, yeah?”

Harry says nothing. He takes another swig of gin. 

“After all that?” Niall looks alarmed. 

Harry groans. “I don’t know. I’m stupid. It’s just.” He looks out the window. “I mean, with Nick, I didn’t know I was gonna do it until I was doing it, yeah? And by then it was too late cause I didn’t have Louis’ number or whatever and honestly, I don’t know. He probably wouldn’t have wanted—I mean he lives in Ireland! How could we possibly—”

“Hey, hey,” Niall says, rubbing circles in Harry’s back. “It’s okay, I’m sorry.” He gives Harry’s shoulder a small squeeze. “It’ll be alright.”

“Oh, god.” Harry’s head drops into his hands. “Why does this suck so much?”

“Because love is a battlefield, Harry.”

“Ah, Niall.” Harry gives him a watery grin. “You know how I appreciate a good 80’s music reference.”

“I’m here for you, mate.”

“Thanks.” Harry gives him a tight hug, tucking his head under Niall’s chin. “I should probably get back home.”

“Absolutely not,” Niall says without letting go. “First of all, you can’t drive, you’ve had about a shot and a half’s worth of this stuff, and we both know you’re a tragic lightweight.” He breaks the hug just enough to take the bottle out of Harry’s hand and place it on the table. “Second of all, I’m not letting you stay cooped up in that apartment by yourself all night. Zayn is gonna be coming home soon, and a little birdie told me he’s bringing Chinese food.”

“Did the little birdie mention anything about renting a film?”

“It did not. But if I were to inquire further with the birdie, would _Princess Bride_ do the trick?”

“It always does.” Harry stands up from the couch and stretches his back into an arch. “But if I’m marooned here for a while, could I use your room for a bit? Just. Feeling like I need a nap.”

Niall roles his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You know where Zayn keeps the CDs.”

Harry pretends to look offended. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

He walks past Niall into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, then crosses to the cabinet across from the bed. The shelves are lined with every album from Chopin to Katy Perry. He scans the titles for the right mood. Not Coldplay. He’s not _that_ kind of broken-hearted sod. 

Nothing he finds is quite right until, _oh_.

_Elvis Presley Greatest Hits._

Without thinking, Harry slides the case out of the shelf and pops the CD into the machine. After a moment, the first guitar chords of “Burning Love” are coming through the speakers.

Harry grins in spite of himself. That first car ride, Louis’d been so sullen. Harry thought he might get dropped off on the side of the road if he said the wrong thing. And Harry had still managed to keep talking. He shakes his head. _Always charming, Styles._.

He hits the “next” button. Harry knows the song from the first note. _Here we go_. He walks back to the bed and flops down on his back, letting the song wash over him.

“You make me so lonely, baby. You make me so lonely. You make me so lonely, I could die.”

_Me too, Elvis. Me too._

Harry closes his eyes. He is going to have his sad teenage boy moment. He is going to have his sad teenage boy moment and then he is going to be fine. 

The problem is, he’s not really prepared for the next song.

“Wise men say only fools rush in—”

“No.”

“But I can’t help falling in love with you.”

“Nope, nope.” Harry starts to sit up because he did not ask for this. Although it is unarguably one of Elvis’ greatest hits, so maybe he kind of did.

But the stereo is all the way on the other side of the room. And how can he be expected to leave the comfort of bed? Harry lets his head drop back down onto the pillow and lets out a groan.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can’t help falling in love with you.”

When the tears come, it’s with rather a lot more force than Harry had expected. 

“Fuuuuck.”

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes. Some things are meant to be.”

“Piss off, Elvis, you old wanker.” Harry takes a pillow and chucks it in the general direction of the machine.

“Oy,” comes Niall’s voice from outside the door. “Better not be throwing things at my stereo.”

“Sorry.”

“Zayn’s almost home, and he’s gonna have your head on a pike if that thing is damaged. Also the little birdie wants to know if Harry Potter will do. They don’t have ‘The Princess Bride,’ apparently.”

Harry sits up. “They don’t have it?”

“I guess somebody’s checked it out.”

“Um.” Harry rubs his face. “Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which Harry Potter film?”

“Hang on.” There is a bit of muffled mumbling, then Niall’s voice comes back. “They have the fourth one and sixth one.”

“The sixth one.”

“As you wish.”

Harry wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “Thanks, mate,” he calls, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and hopping down.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on out when you’re done being emo.”

Harry walks to the door and opens it. Niall is standing right outside with the phone to his ear.

“It’s not emo if it’s Elvis, Niall.”

“Ah yes, that age old proverb: it’s not emo if it’s Elvis.” Niall rolls his eyes then speaks into the phone. “See you at home, yeah. Love you.” He hangs up and pockets the phone. “Better?”

“A bit, yeah.”

When Zayn arrives, he and Harry lay the food out on the kitchen counter while Niall sets up the DVD.

It’s nice, watching a film with his boys. Niall provides his own commentary, as usual. Things like, “Hagrid’s is the place to be _every_ night, am I right?” and “That’s right, Malfoy, angst it up in the girls toilet, nobody thinks you’re a tool.”

Things get dicey only once, briefly, when Ron kisses Lavender Brown.

“YOU DON’T LOVE HER, YOU LOVE HERMIONE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, RONALD.”

“Harry, please, it’s okay,” Zayn soothes, rubbing his back.

“And no throwing fortune cookies at the telly, you animal,” Niall adds.

At some point, Harry falls asleep on the couch, wedged between the two of them. He wakes up with a blanket tucked snuggly around him and an eggroll underneath him.

Niall wanders into the kitchen, fully dressed and waves to Harry as he passes the couch. “Morning, sunshine.”

“What time is it?” Harry sits up and digs through his pockets for his phone.

“’Bout quarter to nine,” Niall says, opening up the fridge and ducking his head inside.

Harry groans and buries his face in the couch cushion. “I don’t want to go to work.” His words are muffled, but Niall gets the gist.

“Oh, no you don’t, mate. We’ve got a birthday bash to prep and there’s only room for one useless lay-about in this partnership.”

Harry lifts his head. “Are those fruity-O’s?”

“Bet your arse.” Niall shakes the box of cereal at him. “Come and get ‘em.”

. . .

Harry is making chocolate raspberry tarts for a wedding when the kitchen phone by the door rings.

“Could you get that?” Harry says, gesturing with his chocolate-coated hands.

Niall hops down from the counter and jogs over to the phone. “Styles & Horan Catering, how may we feed you?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Niall, I told you, that’s not going to be our slogan.”

Niall ignores him. “Yes, we do birthdays, office parties, weddings—absolutely, would you like to schedule a complimentary taste test at our kitchen? We have—why yes, I am, why?”

Harry goes back to mixing until all the lumpy bits are gone and the chocolate is smooth. He nudges the tray of tart crusts over to the bowl with his elbow—his only usable appendage without chocolate on it. As he places a dollop into each crust, he notices Niall has gone very quiet.

He looks up from the counter. Niall is talking with his back to Harry now, his voice too low to make out. Harry’s eyes narrow, but he goes back to his tarts and tries to ignore him.

After a couple minutes, Niall hangs up the phone and skips back to Harry, hopping back up onto the counter.

“What was all that then?” Harry says, the very picture of casual disinterest, thank you very much.

“Just a potential customer. Wanted to know about our hours.” Niall’s legs swing, dangerously close to the pots hanging under the counter.

“Did they want to arrange a taste test?”

“We’ll see.” Niall gives him a cheeky grin.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Still need me to slice those tomatoes?” Niall scoots to the other side of the counter, swinging one leg over so he’s straddling the damn thing, and grabs a cutting board and knife.

“Hang on, Niall did you schedule a taste test?”

“I’ll just finish this up, shall I?” Niall picks a tomato from the bowl beside him and gives it an experimental toss in the air. Then he lays it on the cutting board and begins dicing.

Harry sighs. “Yeah, alright. Thanks. You’re a fucking weirdo, you know that?”

Niall just grins.

“I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Probably just for the sex.”

Harry throws a raspberry at him.

 

They finish preparing the food just in time to load it into the van and drive to the event.

“As per bloody usual,” Harry says, and Niall laughs.

They pull up to the location—a lovely garden wedding with a tastefully subtle nautical theme. Under the tent, the staff is already setting up round tables and chairs. Harry and Niall carry their trays to the buffet table and begin laying out the spread.

“I don’t understand weddings so close to Valentines Day,” Harry says as he smoothes out the wrinkles in the tablecloth. “I mean don’t they wanna spread things out a bit?”

“But this way is so cost-efficient,” says Niall. “One gift for two occasions.”

“I feel like if you’re trying to celebrate your love as little as possible, you’re doing it wrong,” says Harry with a laugh.

Niall snorts. “Fair point.”

“I’m gonna start placing the center pieces. Mind finishing this bit yourself?” Harry says.

“Sure thing. When are people meant to be arriving?”

“I would say about 5:30? Maybe 6:00?”

“Alrighty.”

Harry heads back to the van to grab the box of breadstick baskets for the tables. Just as he’s closing the back door with his foot, box perched precariously on one shoulder, Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Bullocks—” He sets the box down on the ground with a grunt and fishes his mobile out. 

It’s Zayn.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mate. I’m here by the fountain thing? Should I park?”

“What?” Harry looks around. “Here as in, like, at the wedding?”

“No, Harry, as in the Galapagos Islands. Yes, here at the wedding.”

“Wha—why?” Shouldn’t he be at work? “Wait, do you know the family or something?”

“No,” Zayn says. “Niall called, said you needed a change of clothes. Asked me to pick something up for you.”

“Oh. Really?” But Harry has a change of clothes in the back of the van. He always brings the uniforms. He’s very responsible about it. “Hang on. Er—yeah no you can park down the hill, out front. There’ll be valet and that later.”

“Alright. Where will you be?”

“Giant tent. You can’t miss it.”

“Cool. See ya, mate.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Harry hangs up and takes the box hurriedly back up to the tables. 

Niall is laying down the final tablecloth. He looks up when Harry approaches. “Almost done here!” he says cheerfully.

“Great, great.” Harry sets the box down on the table. “So Zayn’s here?”

“Oh, excellent!”

“He didn’t need to come all the way out here. I brought the uniforms in the van, I always do that.”

“I know, I know. But you’re not wearing those tonight. Tonight, you’re gonna have a proper suit.”

“I don’t need a proper suit, I’m a caterer, not a guest.”

“You can be a caterer and still be fit.”

“The uniforms look sharp!” Harry says, defensively.

“Of course they do. I just thought—hey, there you are!” Niall’s face brightens as Zayn comes around the corner, carrying a suit hanger. 

“Nice set up, lads,” Zayn says, admiring the buffet table.

“Thanks, love,” Niall gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Zayn turns to Harry and hands him the suit. “I brought the one you wore for your birthday last year. All black, not too show-y like, but still on point.”

“See?” Niall says. “Perfect. Not cheetah print, but still a bit of Harry style. Do you get what I did there? Harry _style_?”

“Yeah, I got it,” says Harry. “I didn’t hate it.”

“I hated it,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “But at any rate, good luck tonight, mate.”

“Er, thanks? I mean we just walk around with platters of food, it’s not much of a—”

“No, I mean with—” Zayn catches Niall’s eye and blinks. “Yeah well, you know, good luck with those platters then, ay? Don’t drop ‘em.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. He looks back and forth between the two of them. _Something is distinctly fishy_. He bites his lip. 

“Alright,” he says slowly. “Thanks for the suit.”

“Any time.” Zayn absently rests a hand on Niall’s waist. There’s an easy intimacy in it, and Harry suddenly feels a ridiculous need to look away. _It’s been almost a week, for Christ’s sake get a grip_. He’s not gonna go there, not tonight. He’s working tonight.

“You should stick around for the reception,” Niall says. “More than enough food, believe me.”

“Yeah, alright,” says Zayn. “You don’t think the families would mind me crashing?”

Harry’s stomach squirms. _Not going there_

“I’m gonna go place these baskets,” he says, hurriedly. He snatches half a dozen or so out of the box and walks briskly away. God, why does he feel so _twitchy_? He hopes Zayn and Niall don’t notice.

. . .

Finally, the guests start to arrive. The tent is full of booming laughter and happy chatter. Harry and Niall load countless trays of _hors d’oeuvres_. The noise and excitement are enough to distract Harry. He really does love his job. Being at the center of a celebration like this, overseeing it, making sure all goes well and everyone has a good time. He’s pretty sure it’s what he was born to do.

Even so, he’s grateful when the initial dinner mayhem dies down and people start making their way to the dance floor. He sits down at an empty table for a moment to rest his legs—not the most professional move, but fuck it, he’s been standing for hours and anyway, he’s wearing a decidedly unsuitable suit for a caterer. He can blend.

 _Seriously, though, why the suit thing?_ Granted, Harry is always game for dressing up, but it’s a little against policy. His policy, but still. And honestly, he doesn’t feel much like partying. His eyes find Niall and Zayn at the dessert end of the buffet table where Niall is sneakily eating the twirly chocolate garnishes off of the fruit tarts. Zayn is standing watch in front of his boyfriend like a security guard, and it suddenly dawns on Harry why Niall asked for the suit. It was probably an excuse for Zayn to come by. _Of course_. Harry feels a fierce fondness for the both of them at that moment. 

He is spacing out in the general direction of the dance floor, wondering idly if he should start refrigerating the leftover crab cakes, when he hears a chair scrape behind him, and somebody sits down.

“Scamming on bride’s father again? Bloody typical, Harold.”

Harry’s stomach drops. _Not possible_. He whirls around in his seat so fast his shoulder audibly pops and then he’s looking into crinkly blue eyes and it’s like his heart actually stops.

“Louis,” he breathes.

“Hi.” Louis smiles a little uncertainly.

Harry scrambles to his feet and Louis follows him. They stand facing each other.

“What—you…you’re here.” Harry’s eyes trail over every inch of him, drinking him in. He looks incredible. In a bloody navy blue suit, for christ’s sake.

Harry must have been staring, because Louis looks down and smoothes the lapels with his hands. “Yeah, I thought I’d class it up this time. Not my first wedding crash, you know.”

Harry lets out an incredulous laugh. And then, “You’re here,” he says again because _he’s here_. “At work!”

Louis nods. Then he bites his lip. “Is—er—is that okay?”

“Yes! It’s—I mean, I’m,” Harry stumbles over his words. “But how—”

“Had a little chat with your Irish friend. Top lad.”

“You talked to Niall?” Harry whips around and catches sight of blonde hair ducking out of the tent. “But how did you talk to Niall? When?”

“Well you left me the name of your company, so I thought…I mean why leave me with that if you didn’t want me to use it, right?”

Harry isn’t sure what he’d hoped to accomplish with that one. That’s not true. He knew what he wanted. His brain just hadn’t quite caught up yet. 

“So you found the company?”

“I called the number on the website, which I guess was the kitchen phone? Or like whatever your super secret headquarters is, but you didn’t answer, Niall answered, so—”

“What did you say?”

Louis lets out an awkward laugh. “Well, okay first I kind of panicked cause it wasn’t you and I had prepared this whole long thing that I wanted to say, but yeah, it wasn’t you, so I panicked and asked if you guys do birthdays.”

Harry snorts. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, and then he went off about like taste tests and calendars and that, and I was just trying to backpedal out of there, but.” He shrugs. “It worked out.”

“It did, yeah. I can’t believe—” Harry stops abruptly then because something just registers. “Hang on, what ‘whole long thing’?”

“Um.” Louis’ ears turn red and his eyes dart around the tent.

“What whole long thing, Louis?” Harry’s grin is so wide, and he’s not even trying to hide it.

“Just, you know…” Louis looks up and his eyes meet Harry’s. He sighs. “Look. I’ve been holed up in my inn alone, being a god-awful arse to any and all customers. Like, the regulars have been commenting on my surliness. _My_ surliness. Like it’s even worse than normal, right? And I’ve been watching Meg Ryan movies, which, let me tell you, not helping, and it just sucks. It sucks being alone in my stupid inn when I keep thinking how maybe…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I keep thinking I could be here instead, maybe. I kept thinking about how much better that would be and finally I just thought why haven’t I done that? You know?”

Harry’s mouth is hanging open a bit. His throat has gone all dry, but his palms are sweaty as hell. He surreptitiously wipes them on his slacks and swallows.

“So.” Louis looks up at the ceiling of the tent then back at Harry. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“And I know, we haven’t, like, known each other that long. I mean, what, three days?” Louis says quickly. “So I understand that this is kind of weird or whatever.”

“Yeah—”

“But Niall seemed to think you wouldn’t mind,” Louis adds with a small smile.

“Did he—oh god, what did he say?”

“Well he mentioned that you were, uh. Unattached.”

“Ah.”

“And then something about needing his husband’s stereo back? Something about you hoarding it to listen to Elvis?”

“That is such an exaggeration!” Louis laughs at that, and Harry relaxes a bit. He shrugs. “Well he was right.”

Louis gasps. “You _did_ steal his stereo? Harold, how could you!”

“No, no I mean about me minding. I don’t.”

“Oh, right.” Louis’ face gets serious again. “Good.” He’s silent for a moment, just looking at Harry. Then he laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t plan this far.”

“Oh my god.” Harry takes a step forward and presses a soft kiss to Louis’ mouth. Louis responds immediately, running fingers through Harry’s hair and down his back, pulling him closer.

Harry breaks the kiss after a moment to say breathlessly, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Hey," Louis sounds out of breath as well. "You’re not the only one who can travel across the country to make a grand romantic gesture, mate. Don’t think you’re so special.”

Harry rolls his eyes, and Louis tugs him back down by his tie, and then they’re kissing again. Louis hums contently, and Harry feels like he might float away.

Harry makes a mental note to thank Niall. After he’s done killing him.

 _Niall_. And suddenly a lot of things start to make sense. The suit, for one thing. Honestly, Harry should have known, but Niall does unexplainably weird things sometimes and, after all these years, Harry’s learned to just go with it.

Then something moves in his peripheries and he catches a glimpse of a very smug-looking blonde, leaning against the buffet table. Harry is suddenly acutely aware of his surroundings. He breaks away again, and this time Louis lets out a low whine that really does things for Harry, but he needs to ignore that for a minute because he’s working, dammit!

He glances around at the guests, but people don’t seem to be paying them much mind. Niall and Zayn, however, are watching with identical raised eyebrows, so Harry shoots a glare their way and turns back to Louis.

“I should get back to work.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea, I hate that idea,” Louis murmurs, tugging at Harry’s tie again.

“Hey, hey,” Harry rests his hands on Louis’ waist. “As soon as this wedding is over, I’m taking you straight home, so don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m pretty tired from all that traveling.” Louis opens his mouth in a wide yawn, but something in Harry’s eyes makes him clamp it shut a second later. “I’m kidding, oh my god, _when will this wedding end?_ ”

Harry grins and grabs his hand, dragging him to the table where Niall and Zayn are waiting.

Niall looks Louis up and down. “Yeah, okay I get it. Ouch!” He rubs the spot on his arm where Zayn pinched it.

“I’m Zayn,” Zayn holds out a hand, and Louis shakes it.

“Louis. Nice to meet you.” Louis smiles. “And you must be Niall.”

“Glad you could make it, mate.” Niall throws an arm around him, like an old friend. “Good to have ya.”

“Alright, Louis,” Harry says. “I’m gonna leave you with Zayn and the chocolate tarts while Niall and I get back to work. Do you think you can manage?”

“Will you come back soon?”

Harry squeezes his hand. “Of course.”

“Can I eat the chocolate tarts?”

“In moderation.”

“Then I think I’ll manage.”

“Good.” And then on impulse, Harry leans down and plants a light kiss on his nose. Because he can. Louis crinkles up at him and swats at his bum when he turns around.

Niall shakes his head and follows Harry out of the tent to their makeshift kitchen, muttering something about insufferable flirts. 

As soon as they’re out of sight, Harry pulls Niall into a tight hug. Niall hugs him back without a word.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, anything to stop you crying into the tartar.”

Harry laughs and doesn’t let go. “Love you.”

“Love you too, mate. Loads.” Niall rubs circles into Harry’s back then pulls away. “Now put those ice cream sandwiches on a platter and get back to work, slacker.”

. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so there it is and I hope you liked it! Thank you for sticking around and thank you so so much for your lovely feedback!! I just kind of hide in my shirt and squeal when I read it because I get very overwhelmed aND I LOVE YOU.
> 
> this is the part where I remind you that [ Ruth ](http://littleadder.tumblr.com/) is a god and thank her profusely for being a patient and perfect beta
> 
> AND ONCE AGAIN IM SORRY IT TOOK SO DAMN LONG PLS FORGIVE ME I AM BUT A HUMBLE FANFICTION WRITER TRYING TO PASS COLLEGE 
> 
> I DONT EVER WANNA LEAVE YOU AGAIN 
> 
> DID I MENTION IM SORRY


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